


Rath & Storm 2.0

by DharthGators



Category: Magic: The Gathering
Genre: Phyrexians (Magic: The Gathering), Ulgrotha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-06-09 19:18:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19482304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DharthGators/pseuds/DharthGators
Summary: An anthology of short stories set on the planes of Magic: The Gathering





	1. Dawn Breaks Darkly

At first, weeping was something of a novelty.  
As the Grand Evolution progressed, the Great Father saw no need for his children to shed tears, there were far more efficient ways to lubricate their cranial network. Even when the Nine Stars fell, slaughtering thousands of their brethren, the Thran remained stoic, knowing in their heartstones that their Father would soon spread the perfection of Phyrexia across the planes.  
They rejoiced when he crossed to embrace Dominaria.  
In his fall, they found only silence.  
No one knew who was the first, but within a week of the Shattering, many who remained among the Spheres had gashed the flesh beneath their ocular cavities, glistening oil dripping down their faces in a parody of the tears they had seen stain the faces of so many other sentient beings. In time, the scars formed by these wounds came to be seen as a mark of distinction on those who bore them, a sign of mourning for the final fall of the Thran.  
Ras Jhellek, former Knight of the Sanguine Order of Yawgmoth, was seated beside a polluted stream, and in the process of reopening his scars when the vat priests found him.  
“Hail paladin, blessings of the Father ease your path.” Jhellek grimaced, a trickle of oil staining his fangs, “I greet you priest, how may I assist the Father’s chosen?” The priest, who Jhellek now recognized as Lord-Vilicus Tormund Vaal stooped, leaning on his staff until he was level with the crouching Western Paladin, “I must admit some surprise, Ras Jhellek, in hearing this from you. Your absence from the staging grounds has been noted, and many have grown concerned that you have abandoned our Father’s great work.” “His work?” Jhellek rose to his full hight, glowering down at the priest, “what work is there to be done? Our forges and factories have gone cold, our great engines ground to a halt, Rath and Dominaria are lost to us.” Jhellek turned from the priest, shame battling with anger on his face, “Our father is dead, and his children squabble over the ruins of his kingdom. There is no work left to be done.” He felt a cold metallic claw rest on his shoulder, and he turned. “You have not heard then,” the priest’s face pulled back into a toothy rictus, “there has been a breakthrough.”  
It was the most beautiful thing Ras Jhellek had ever seen. The portal stood, gleaming white and shining amidst the ash darkened skies of Phyrexia. Thran of various forms scuttled across the structure, repairing and maintaining the great work in real time. After a moment, Jhellek finally retained enough of his cognitive functions to speak. “Wh… where…” “…does it lead?” Vaas finished for him, “wherever we desire, Ras Jhellek. Or, rather, wherever you desire.” Jhellek turned sharply to the priest, who grinned back once more. “Our armies need a leader, and you are our greatest remaining military mind.” Ras Jhellek stared up at the portal for a long time, the brilliance reflecting in the dark pools of his eyes. And then, finally, he smiled. “Assemble the legions, Tormund Vaas. The time has come to spread the Grand Artificer’s work across the planes once more.” Lord-Vilicus Tormund Vaas bowed low, the twisted smile never leaving his face, “by your will, my Evincar.”


	2. To Thy Rest...

I am just leaving the abbey when the coach arrives. The sun, nearly at its zenith when I arrived in Aysen, now descends slowly toward the horizon. I had lost track of time, the dim light and calm of the stone chambers cause my mind to wander, losing itself in dreams of the past. And, when you have lived as long and seen as much as I have, there is so much in which to lose oneself. Triumph, and tragedy. Creation, destruction, love, and loss. It was these last that occupied my thoughts today. The love that brought me here, and the love for which I stayed. The latter, warm, comforting, slow to burn and snuffed before it’s time. The former, blazing, passionate, enduring as the promise of dawn in the depths of night. Radiant. “Mistress?” I shake my head; the coachman is beckoning me. Brushing back my hair, the gold of which remains untarnished by the passing of centuries, I climb aboard, shutting the door as he cracks the reigns. The Baron is expecting me.

* * *

Evening turns to dusk as the coach speeds through the gates of Onella. Aysen has been my home now for over a decade, and, though it’s parks and aviaries remain a beacon of tranquility on this plane, it is time I made preparations to leave. Should I live anywhere for too long, the unchanging nature of my existence tends to draw notice from those around me. And, at this point in my life, I value my privacy above all else. I begin to ponder where next to make my home. An-Havva perhaps? Spend my days walking the paths of the Great Wood, my nights by the fire at the famed Inn. Or to the sea? It has been an age since I spent time amongst the dwarves and wizards of the Floating Isle. The carriage slows, and the voice of the driver draws me back to the present. “Mistress? We are nearly at the Gates.” Sighing, I lean out of the window, concentrating for a moment on the marble edifice ahead. A flare of white mana, and the gargoyles, hidden in the shadows of the gate’s ramparts, return to their roosts. I settle back into my seat, as the carriage rattles across the border, and we enter the Dark Barony.

* * *

“Knight takes pawn.”

The baron raises a golden chalice to his lips, smiling at me over the rim. The light from the braziers dance in his eyes, enhancing the demonic quality he has long tried to cultivate for his face. I roll my eyes. After all this time the dark majesty of the immortal vampire, Baron Sengir, has largely faded for me. We both know each other for what we are. To me, the Baron is a necessary evil, a stich holding the tenuous peace on Ulgrotha together. To him, I am a fellow immortal, a companion to alleviate the tedium of his endless existence. Usually, by playing chess.

“Queen to E6.”

“Tell me, dear,” the baron steeples his fingers as he studies the board, “do you not grow tired of wandering this land?” I sigh. This again? “Sengir, I am happy to accept your hospitality for a night or two, but for the last time, I am not interested in beco-” The baron raises a hand, forestalling my protestation. “You misunderstand me.”

“Rook takes bishop.”

"What I meant was, for one who has walked the planes, seen wonders beyond imagining, surely you must tire of the same day after day?” I glance around the room, my eyes lingering briefly on heavy woven tapestries, paintings in gilt frames, statues of stone and bronze, treasures accumulated over the course of a dozen lifetimes, the details of each I knew by heart. Shrugging, I turn my attention back to Sengir “The care of this plane was my husband’s life’s work, maintaining his spell is how I keep his legacy alive.

”“Bishop to G5.”

He smiles again, the smile he reserves for those times when a shred of his former humanity spills past his dark mask, the smile I’ve seen only a few times in our long lives. “I miss Feroz too. He was a worthy adversary, and a truly good man. But you didn’t answer my question.” He takes another sip from his goblet, dabbing the moisture from his lips with a cloth. “Is there nothing about your former life you miss? No unfinished business remains for you among the stars? No beings with whom you wish to reunite?” 

_Radiant._  
“Rook to C7, Check.”

I barely hear him. All I can think of are those long ago days. The sun rising in the amber skies, reflecting off the hilt of her sword, hung on the wall. Her smile, the sheer joy in her face as she flew through the clouds, blue robes billowing behind her. Her warmth as she held me close. The tears as she waved goodbye to me, not knowing it was for the last time. The crack of a log in the brazier breaks the spell, and I turn back to Sengir, guilt and anger warring within me. I know he did not mean for this. There was no way he could have foreseen the reaction his words would elicit. No way he could have known that, in the centuries since Feroz died, there had been only one brief break from my loneliness, the call from a would-be god. Swallowing my feelings, I turn back to the game. “What does it matter. Feroz’s Ban seals this world off from the rest of Dominia, nothing may enter or leave, be they mortal or planeswalker. Even if I wan-... even if there was something out there for me, I am trapped here just as you are.”

“Queen takes Rook.” 

“Serra,” the Baron looks up at me, and in that instant, I saw the man he must have been once, the man he had buried beneath centuries of evil, the man who had finally dug his way to the surface, “I’ve found a way to fix the Dwarven Gate.” My jaw drops.

“Knight takes Queen, Checkmate.”

* * *

It’s beautiful. The rough edifice has been worn by time, many of the old faded carvings have restored, though by hands far less skilled than the original carvers. The portal itself pulses gently, the light spilling forth cycling through shades of white, blue, green, red, and black. I stare, my amazement robs me of my words. “Wh… where does…” Out of the corner of my eye, I see Sengir shrug. “I do not know,” he says, “none who I’ve sent through have ever returned. Although, if my understanding of your abilities is correct, the where doesn’t matter too much, does it?” I shake my head. Wherever this leads, it will be a quick ‘walk from there, back to my Realm, back to her. I turn to Sengir, tears brimming at the corner of my eyes, and before he can move I throw my arms around him in a hug, “How… how can I ever repay you for this?” He stands stiffly for a moment, but soon the tension in his shoulders fades, and I feel him move to return the embrace. “All I ask is that you drop in every occasionally, to regale me with the tales of your new adventures.” Breaking the embrace, I cannot help laughing, and for the first time in all our centuries, I see the hint of a blush color the cheeks of the ancient vampire. “You have my word.” He bows, kissing my hand, “Of all the many beings I have known, you, Serra, are without equal. Fare thee well” Turning, I face the Gate. Soon, I will see her again. My greatest creation. My truest love. I step through the portal.

_My Radiant._


End file.
